


She Would Have Loved You

by SchonAndDying



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Codsworth (mentioned), Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Shaun is spoken about but not present, a lot of the compainons are mentioned, food as a love language, nothing extreme but i cant help myself and add a little, personal headcannons for sole, piper wright (mentioned) - Freeform, some graphic depictions of violence near the end for 1 scene, the old joke of affinity conversations happening at awkward times remains true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28665138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SchonAndDying/pseuds/SchonAndDying
Summary: A broad hand finds his shoulder and tugs him back down into the pillow. Nate mumbles something, he can barely make out his name as he snuggles into him. Putting an arm around him, he rests his forehead against Nate's. He looks so peaceful now, with their lives finally settling down into a routine. Their understanding of everything is more certain, no more mysteries and stressors they hadn’t already encountered a thousand times by now.“What?” He murmurs sleepily. “St’p starin’.” Humming out a laugh, he nuzzles up against him, burying himself into Nate’s arms. Immediately, he smushes Preston against his chest in an iron clad hold. After a moment, he drifts back off.This is… everything he hoped it would be. And more.
Relationships: Preston Garvey/Male Sole Survivor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	She Would Have Loved You

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no, not me being in this damn stupid fandom for 4 years and only now writing for my husband. 
> 
> Tensing is all over the place but i tried to keep is consistent in each section, lol.

The moment they stepped from the museum, the stranger had staked claim on one house in Sanctuary, told everyone no one was to set foot in it. He seemed pretty distressed with their whole plan to set up there in general. Preston kept his finger on his trigger. This man had saved them, graciously and without expectation of a reward, but strangers in the Commonwealth were to be weary of. No matter their dazzling, stressed smiles and piercing eyes. The trek is an hour long and he stays in the power armor the whole time. They take a break at an old gas station to let Mama Murphy rest. Her wheelchair had broken weeks ago and Sturges' and him had taken turns carrying her whenever the pain became too much. But with the stranger he doesn't want to take the risk of having one of them unable to defend themselves. He just steps from the power armor and sat at the side of the road until they could carry on, staring down at his hands and with a dog curled around him.

He sees the statue before he even realizes they're finally at Sanctuary. Ogling it for a moment, he turns back to the group with a grin and a quick historical fact. Sturges smiles and shakes his head, Marcy just glowers at him, and the stranger snorts, funnily enough. He when looked over at him, he's trudging across the bridge like he hadn't heard him. Sanctuary is... as beautiful as a ruined prewar neighborhood can get. The houses have a nice blue or yellow. The paint is peeling and panels are missing, but it all looks like it could be restored into something beautiful. Plans are already forming in his head when he hears the seals of power armor releasing and the stranger steps out. A Mr. Handy appears from behind the side of a building and guides the man inside one of the homes. 

No one sees him until the next morning when he emerges from the house and seeks out Mama. Preston doesn't ask about it but she can read him about as well as his own mother can. “He’s searching for something.” she said, “But he’s too hurt to ask for help, too confused by a new world. He needs guidance and a shoulder, but he isn't sure who's." As cryptid as ever... He really needs to look through her things and take the chems. But... She might be onto something. With the way Nate had cut her in half with his glare when she spoke of a lost son. 

Honestly, he forgets about it until he's clearing out shrubbery behind Sanctuary to clear way for the walls when he finds a path leading up the hill. Skeletons strewn about, one still with their hand through the wire fencing. The vault at the top has the same numbers of his jumpsuit. 

The first time he steps into the back part of The General's home, he's looking for him after word of an urgent matter that required special attention from them. He had been elusive all that morning. Dogmeat clawing at the front door had been his only indication he was even in there. Normally, he wouldn't have barged in but his mind is off at the settlement in need he doesn't realized he's turned down the hall everyone was forbid from until a soft golden glow catches his eye. Pausing, he gently nudges a door wider open. 

Soft string lights hang around the room, giving the room a soft, innocent glow. A bright blue crib sits against one wall beside a changing table. It looks like a new sheet had been sewn from other fabrics to cover the small mattress. Several pillows are piled along the sides and a particularly clean teddy bear sits on top of one. Other scavenged toys are neatly placed around the room. Even the walls are fixed and the ceiling boarded up. A soft, space themed rug covers most of the ground. It's probably the coziest room in the entire neighborhood. The rest of the General's home certainly isn't this well attended to. One wall of his own room was barebones and covered only by a sheet nailed in place. 

He's sat in the center on the room on his knees with a small book in his hands. The pages are thicker and it looks like its designed for children. His fingers trace each letter slowly, as though it were a photograph of someone long lost to him. Taken aback, all Preston can do is stare for a moment. There was no baby, the General had spent weeks rebuilding this one room without letting anyone know what he was doing, and for what? Mama spoke of a baby, a son's faint light from somewhere in Diamond City. He'd always thought his son was older than an infant. Dangerous, bringing a young child into the Commonwealth. 

Knocking his knuckles against the wooden doorway of the nursery. The General is up and on his feet in a matter of moments, book discarded on the ground. His broad build fills up the doorway, door pulled partially behind him to further hide the room from further viewing. Preston shuffles back, remembering the elusive, skittish man he had first met at Concord. Though, instead of a deadly cold gaze, his eyes look like they're begging him for something.

"General, an emergency-" He starts. Pulling the door closed with the toe of his boot, he steps out and reaches across the hall to push open the door to his bedroom. Deft fingers find the wobbly lock and seal the nursery. 

"Give me a minute." He says, meeting his eyes. Still, that gaze is _asking_ for something. When he turns and leaves him to collect himself, he hopes he's given it to him. 

The General tells him about his son after reclaiming the castle. They'd arrived midday and the battle has lasted until late into the night. He's leant against the doors to the General's quarters, Preston getting his leg in a splint and with a half emptied needle of Med-X precariously between his teeth. The queen had knocked him pretty good, he can already imagine the tales everyone will tell about him liberating a claw from its corpse and declaring the Minuteman's first victory in the new era. The General, however, will probably always remember this night as the time where a mirelurk broke his leg and Preston had to hold him up for him to get the final few shots in. 

"Hold still." He mutters as he traps the two sides of splint between his knees as he grabs a roll of duct tape from the General's pack. Sniffling, he rubs at the blood drying on his face with a grim expression. Preston can feel his eyes on him as he works. Shifting in his place, he starts wrapping his leg; pausing only to fix the needle's position between his teeth. He takes it from his mouth, wipes the plunger off on his sleeve, and sets it back in his medkit. Preston barely registers it as he checks to make sure he can still feel a pulse underneath the splint.

"I have a son." He says suddenly. His voice jostles him from his little focused bubble and he looks up at him. The General's eyes are empty and far off. Still, he continues, "You know that already... A wife, too. Before all this hell broke loose, we lived in Sanctuary. Was thinkin' of getting a dog in a few months, too." 

"Why... Why aren't you with them, General? If I may ask?" He wont inquire about the prewar talk, the General knows a lot about life before the bombs, but so did a lot of Minutemen Preston's met. It seems everyone has an obsession with the past. Maybe he needed a good dosage of Radaway, though. He just huffs a laugh and shifts against the wall.

"Nora... she was killed. We... when the bombs dropped-" Those dark, enigmatic eyes meet his but looks right through him. "We barely got to the vault. The one behind Sanctuary. A bright light and..." Pausing, he swallows thickly and squeezes his eyes closed. 

"You don't have to tell me anything, General." He murmurs, afraid speaking any louder will blow the man away. 

The General had become an unshakable figure in the Minutemen since taking up the mantel. It's obvious he's had combat training and uses that both in and out of violent situations to make quick work of Commonwealth scum, and to calm any possible scuffles through standing taller and bellowing with a voice that vibrated through the ground and deep in his skeleton. He was loyal to the cause, kind and compassionate, patient with those in pain, and still be able to come off as trustworthy enough those desperate enough will practically tug his sleeves off for his help. To the common folk he was kind words and soft smiles, a amiable man behind a thick layer of sturdy armor and powerful weaponry wherever he could possible keep a gun on his person. To miscreants he was an imposing force, immovable and unbreakable in the face of any danger. Once, he had returned to a small farm half dead from blood loss and radiation sickness but with a pack of ferals dead. The story had managed to spread and the next three settlements they visited lavished him with praise. It had disturbed Preston, how they had no regard how much damage he subjected himself to needlessly. Though, his selflessness extended past going beyond clearing possible immediate threats. More times than he bothered to count, he's found him up at all hours of the nights, patrolling the perimeter or half dead on his feet at a guard post. (What Preston was doing up in the young hours of the morning at the guard posts wasn't important.)

Now, he looked like the people that often run to them. Frazzled and utterly hopeless, turning to something bigger than himself in a last ditch effort to save his own hide. He looks human, fallible, weak. There's a ring around his left eye where a nasty bruise is forming. Blood dries in the creases of his forehead. Dark eyes glassy and filled with too much emotion. 

"They took us down and closed the door. The ground shook so hard the elevator nearly broke. I-" He laughs suddenly, as if to cover a sob. "I watched one of my neighbors fall face first on the steel. Thought the vault doctor should give her a look over. Then they..."

Turning his attention back down to the matter at hand, Preston picks up the Stimpack he had set to the side and presses the needle into the General's thigh just above the splint. He grunts quietly as he presses down on the plunger and the miracles of prewar technology is released to work its magic. Even with it all, it'll probably be a day or two before he gets clearance to take the splint off. The General watches him, face flushed and drained at the same time. Preston picks up the medkit and starts looking through it for the rags he knew he had kept in there. The next order of business would be to clean up the blood on his head and face and check over for any injuries. It was an alarming amount of blood and he would rest easier later knowing he'd been thorough. Hopefully it's mostly mirelurk gore. 

"They led us back. Told us the pods... I got in. I _fucking_ got in. Froze me for two hundred years and when I woke up again all I could watch was-" This time he actually weeps. A jarring sound that catches Preston off guard. Looking up he catches his expression morph from distressed to completely crushed, enveloped with grief. Shifting away, he tucks his face into his sleeve. Alarmed, Preston places a hand on his shoulder. He flinches but doesn't push him away. 

"Hey, you don't have to say any more, General." He repeats softly. Down the hall, he can hear a recruits voice. Leaning back, he quietly shoos them off, pointing to the General while his face is still hidden. They show their palms in an apology before quickly heading back towards where they came from. Perhaps they shouldn't be having this talk while out in the hall... The General sniffles and chokes back his crying a minute or so longer before sitting straight against the door and violently scrubbing his face dry. _Don't do that... You'll irritate any cuts there_. 

"They broke into the vault and opened her pod. Tried to take our baby but she wouldn't let them. She was so confused, weak. He- he _shot_ her and _took_ my son. He's not even _two_. I'll never forget his damn face." Fury burns deep in his eyes are he glares at the dirt and debris on the ground. Preston's only seen that look once or twice, when they had been called in to help return a kidnapped settler and they found them alive but... worse for wear. 

Truthfully, that kind of anger resonated deep with Preston. The kind of anger that lit a righteous fire in his belly and a passion deep in his soul. The kind that had you up late at night picking apart your every action to ensure you're not treading the same path of those you've sought to destroy. True hatred and indignation are difficult emotions to spark inside someone, but easy to build into a fire that consumes all in its path once it's lit. It's a thin line between giving into the rage and raze the whole world around you and giving in and letting the embers devour you into a hopeless husk of burnt flesh and dried tears. They walk the middle path now, working to pull others from the depths. Preston had Sturges and those they had lost at Concord to help him in his lower moments. When the whispers of those already perished brushes against his ear and sharpened their teeth against his ribs. Did he have anyone like that, now?

"You should find him. The Minutemen can wait." Nate leans back, deflating into himself. Finally finding a rag he shakes the others off it and clips the box closed again. grabbing the canteen of purified water from his bag he dampens it. No need getting rads in open wounds. That'll just be more work for the both of them later. The General lets him dab and wipe at his face, staring at him with a weary expression. 

"They can't, Preston. There's so many families out here. Starving, scared, _dying_. What if someone's kid dies while I'm away? I could never live with that guilt." Taking his chin in his hand he pulls his head to the side, pointedly avoiding looking him in the eye- too afraid he would lose the confidence to say what's already on the tip of his tongue before the General even finishes. He's careful around the tender flesh around his eye as he cleans it. 

"That's not your guilt to bare. One man cannot possibly spread himself across the entire Commonwealth and ethically promise it be available at a minute's notice. Isn't that why we're here right now? To expand the Minutemen's reach to every corner of the Commonwealth to fulfil our promise? There is no faction or organization in one man with the weight of his own family's safety and every other in Boston. When you found me in Concord, I thought that as the last Minuteman if I ever survived that moment I would have to be the one to slave on my own to save everyone I met. Truthfully, that was the hopeful option for me, then. I was ready and prepared to die before you showed up. Die an cowardly death of a man who had given up. Would have fought to my final breath to protect my people, but I was hurting so bad to just die that I wasn't scared when they started kicking in the door. And, now, you've given me a reason to be afraid when we're clearing settlement spots. I have a reason to keep going and people to fall back on. 

"What do you have, General? What have you allowed yourself? You're a grown man and if you don't want to be my friend outside of our duties I don't hold that against you, but who do you have that you can turn to? You've kept everyone around you at an arm's length enough that you're afraid to look for your _baby._ If you were a farmhand you would have found him the same day you were told he was missing. I'm sorry if me asking for your help made you feel like you were trapped here, with us. If you want to leave the Minutemen that's entirely your choice. We'll help you find your baby if your our General or not. That child is our number one priority until he's returned safely home and I swear you that." 

He'll never know what to do when that pleading gaze meets his. It's a expression he rarely made and was so jarringly, genuinely raw that it took him by surprise. A kind of unguarded vulnerability a man who hadn't been raised in radiation scorched earth and dilapidated buildings could pull off so easily. Preston has to force himself to tear his gaze away and back to his work.

"Shaun... His name is Shaun." He whispers, eyes burning holes into Preston. He tilts his head down to clean around his hairline. 

"Shaun will be back in your arms. I will see to it. I'll be with you every step of the way in whatever way, if you'll have me. I owe you and all your hard work my life and gratitude for indulging my dream. This is the bare minimum I could ever do to repay you." 

"I'll have you." He mumbles and Preston makes the fatal mistake of meeting his gaze again. "Nora would've loved you. You've got a lawyer's charisma sometimes." 

"A lawyer?" When he smiles, a small scar on his bottom lip is more visible.

"A prewar thing."

* * *

It takes a while and a lot of work, but the General smiles a lot more now. Through their travels they meet many people and explore enough ruins for Preston to be able to summarize Boston's history from memory- or what was left with enough of his imagination to fill the gaps. The General isn't as caught off guard by the rampant corruption everywhere they turn, he shrugs and moves on. Says it was a different, wild time. Preston jokes that they should check him in with Dr. Sun if he thinks prewar life was 'wild times' compared to the Wasteland. He laughs and tosses a comic book to him to put away. There's a rack back in Sanctuary he organizes them all in, alphabetical order by series. It's in the nursery for him to read to Shaun when they get him back. There's one in particular he keeps in a plastic container to protect it. 

They travel together more often than not. Sometimes the General has obligations he needs to carry out alone or with someone in particular. Preston just slips a few extra Stimpacks into his bag and sends him off. He's more than capable on his own. He leaves for Diamond City every Saturday to work through Sunday with Nick and is back by midday Monday. No matter how much he tries to convince him to take more time off to dedicate working through it with Detective Valentine, he just shushes him with a light smile. Promises him he'll take off if Valentine has any break throughs. From what he knows of the detective, he's polite enough to wait for the weekend if the news isn't that he has his baby in his arms or an exact address. 

They're making their way back from a visit to Goodneighbor to respond to a call from Sunshine Tidings. The day is growing old and darkness washes over the land. Stopping for the night, The General decides to hold up in an old semi-trailer. Breaks the machete he nabbed from a raider camp but pries the thing open. They spend a few minutes pulling out destroyed pallets and boxes until there's enough room to lay out their sleeping bags. He sets up a fire as the side of the truck and leans against an old, deflated tire. Preston sits down beside him, shrugging off his pack and carefully settling down his musket. Tucking the stray arm of a teddy bear back into the bag he zips it up.

Every so often, if a toy is in good enough condition, he'll snag it for the nursery. The General still decorates it, collects toys and bobbleheads for Shaun when he gets home. Sometimes, when the General is asleep and it's his turn to keep watch, he'll unload some of the heavier scrap from his bag and replace them with his collected toys. Neither speak on it.

"I'm craving pasta something fierce." The General says while rummaging through his bag for something to eat. Preston settles back against the semi and crosses his ankles. The air was humid and dreadfully warm, summer is drawing near and he's not excited for the bloodbugs to come. "Fettuccine... Angel hair... Linguine... There you are. How risky would it be to try and cook?" 

"I didn't see anything but I can go check for mongrels." Shaking his head he undoes the ties that holds a small pot and pan at the bottom of his pack. They make sneaking harder if they don't leave his bag but the General always brings them on longer journeys. A prewar thing of his, he's so hesitant to eat from the random packages of still good food they find. Says it burns his tongue and makes his teeth itch. Preston certainly doesn't notice anything like that. 

"No need. We can handle a pack of dogs." Their hunkering down always had a certain routine. If safe and dry enough, set up a fire, warm up some food, chat for a while before flipping a bottlecap for who got first watch. 

"Don't get cocky on me." Chuckling, he tilts his hat down to block the late afternoon rays. Reaching over, he smacks the brim of his hat hard enough to send it flying off his head. "Wo-Hey!" He laughs and grabs it before it could get anymore dirty. The General laughs and pours the smoked brahmin meat broth gifted from Ann Codman into his pot. Earlier he had complained about not eating it while they were leaving Diamond City but having a hot meal before bed was always heavenly.

They fall into a comfortable silence, the General hums as he tends to the broth and flames. Preston's hand rests on the ground beside his weapon, weary of anything attracted by the smell or light. Out of the corner of his eye, he can notice him growing restless. His humming had stopped but he had taken up organizing his pack. The General was known for his chronic inability to keep his bag orderly, he was always unable to fond the one part he needed at the worst times and coming up with things he's lost last week at the best. Preston's usually the one to keep the most important things in order. 

"Why don't you tell me about lawyers again, General?” He snorts and stokes the fire with the broken machete. Lately, as they spent more nights waiting out the darkness to pick up their journey, they've had more time than ever to just talk. It's nice, to have someone who he can be painfully truthful with. The General still has his sore spots, he as well. Nora has been a topic that he's willing to speak on more and more. At least to Preston. It started with what her favorite flowers had been after they'd set up camp nearby a blossoming patch of wild flowers. Yellow roses and marigolds. He'd explained what a lawyer was a dozen times by now, but the topic seemed to put his nerves to ease whenever he got to rattle off one of the same seven or so stories he could remember her telling him. 

“Oh, you’re tired of that by now. I had a buddy who drove a truck like these for a living, he had some pretty crazy stories.” He speaks easily as he carefully pours out portions of the broth into separate bowls. A soft smile is pressed onto his features, accentuating his crow's-feet and smile lines. Preston doesn't realize he's staring until their hands brush as he's handed his. Jostled from his own mind he blinks and manages to get himself to focus. "... and that lead to a two hour delay around- you're not even listening." The General laughs and leans back against the tire. Quirking a brow when Preston's gaze meets his. "Hey, Cowboy, what'd'ya thinkin' about?"

"Hmm, sorry. It's nothing, General." _I'm just noticing how nice your smile is. I'm glad you_ can _smile now._

* * *

A beam strikes from the sky in a brilliant, blinding flash of white light. The ground shakes and crackles with electricity that hums in the hair and leaves the hair on his arms upright. Standing from his pile of tools, he makes his way over to teleportation pad. The General is stood at the center of the platform, staring up at the sky. As he approaches, he notices the sickly looking paleness to his skin and the way he sways as he stands, appearing like he might pass out at any moment. Quickening his pace, he gets an arm around him before such a thing can happen. Nate flinches and attempts to pull away before he suddenly buries himself into Preston's scarf, immediately dead weight. 

"Woah, hey. Are you okay? Hey, shhh." Stepping back to compensate for Nate's weight, he wraps an arm around you. Sturges and three Minutemen approach, attracted by the sound of the teleporter firing off again. They'd sent Nate off into the Institute not but two hours ago, no one had any ideas when to expect him back and had gone off to keep up their own duties while they waited. A few minutes after he'd gone, when the anticipation was tapering off and the adrenaline was still running wild within them, they'd all joked about the General being gone an hour and coming back covered in soot and oil with the Institute defeated. Now, though, it looked like they' bested him in this battle. The others linger awkwardly, unsure what should be done until Nate mumbles something against his shoulder. He feels the vibrations of his voice against him more than he hears him speak. 

"Lets get you home, okay? I'll get you a drink and something to eat and you can rest." Nate doesn't budge, just tightens his grip on his duster. The others disperse, Sturges gives him a quick thumbs up before going to fetch said items for him. It takes a few minutes of quiet convincing to get the General to agree to move. When he notices they're approaching his own home, he looks queasy and stops. Crouching down, he covers his mouth and sits on the front step of his home, shaking from the effort it took not to cry and teetering dangerously close to the edge of hyperventilating. 

He refuses the food and drink but agrees to go to Preston and Sturges' shared home. Giving him his bed he helps him out of his heavy General uniform before leaving the drink on his nightstand and excusing himself. The General fixes him with that pleading look when he lingers in the doorway, all he can do is promise he'll be working on taking inventory in the garage, that he won't be far.

Preston is a naturally light sleeper. Lighter yet after the months on the road and constantly checking over his shoulder. A loud bang has him nearly falling off the side of the couch. Sitting up, he listens for any other noises. All is silent until a loud clatter and bang comes from across the street. Grabbing his weapon, he starts the uneasy walk out into the dark room. The lights in Nate's home were lit. Another bang. 

The front door opens with just a push and the ground gives a gentle shake underfoot as he enters when something heavy hits the ground from down the hall. His bedroom door is open, candles lit but he's not in there. Turning around, he finds the nursery's door ajar and nudges it open with his knuckles. Nate's inside, stood over a half destroyed crib with the mobile across the room. Toys are strewn across the floor, rug bunched up, shelf only held up by one screw. Nate is shaking with anger and exhaustion. Tears track down his cheeks as he pants, looking from his boot on the tiny mattress to across the room. He doesn't notice Preston, even as he sets his weapon to the side and steps inside.

"General?" Nate steps forwards and picks up a child's book from the broken changing table. His expression teeters on distressed to terrified before he dropped like a lead ball. "General?! What's wrong?" Kneeling beside him he sets a hand on his back, pulling him to sit upright so he can look at him. 

"Sh-Shaun..." He manages through his misery. Broad fingers trail across the cover of the book, 'YOU'RE SPECIAL' is written in bold, blocky letters. Preston pulls him closer by his shoulder. There was a myriad of things that could happen to a child out in the wastes. Worse yet now that his child seems older than they originally surmised. Death was the most merciful option he could think of off the top of his head for Nate to be weeping hard enough to pant over. "My baby-" Nate chokes, clinging onto him. Shifting quietly he grabs him into a tight hug. "Preston, my baby- He’s-”

“Hey, _shh_ , let me get you water, okay? Come with me to the living room. You shouldn’t be in here.” When he tries to stand, he finds Nate is dead weight against him, pulling him back down onto the ground. Getting his arms underneath his he tries to guide him up onto his feet but he just shakes his head and tries to pull away. "Nate, please." Carefully he heaves him up into his arms. Getting him through the doorway is a little awkward but at least he's not trying to pull away again. He sets him down onto the couch, moving a decorative pillow he had laying out behind his head. Standing, he goes to grab a carton of purified water. Opening it on one side he hands it over, Nate takes it but doesn't make any moves to drink.

"Preston, Shaun... He-" Shushing him again, he guides the water to his lips.

"Let's calm you down before you continue, okay? I want you to breathe for me." Nate takes a small drink. At least it's something. He's trembling like a ragstag doe, eyes glassy and the creases in his forehead seem permanent in their misery. Time has taken his tole and he almost looks his age, now. Immortally old and ridden with knowledge of simplicities of a world a million years away. He almost doesn't belong here in the wastes. Soft features of a well nourished life, tone muscles of prewar military routines, the kindness and pleasantries of a society they can only dream of. Preston can only imagine what waking up here would feel like, let alone waking up with his child gone. "I just want you to breathe for now, it's okay."

“Shaun is the director of the institute.” His weak eye contact completely broke as fat tears build in his eyes, expression morphing from manageable grief to overwhelming anguish. Preston stills in shock, trying to rationalize it all in his mind. He'd barely hit ten in Kellogg's memories. There was just no way... “They refroze me for se-” Hiccupping, he lowers the carton from his face and wipes desperately at the tears on his face. “Seventy years. He- he… He was the one th-that woke me up. I-” 

"Nate, breathe. Okay? You can tell me when we get you calm. I promise, okay?" He just stares at him. The carton trembles in his hand, he takes it and sets in on the short coffee table. When he turns back around, Nate's still looking at him like he's begging for his help. Preston guides him through breathing techniques he learned in basic training and it seems to work long enough for him to pass out. Standing, he goes to find him a blanket. Codsworth is already coming out with one so he moves to snuff out all the candles. When he enters the living room again, Codsworth tentatively asks him to stay and he obliges, taking a seat on the armchair and keeping watch over the other man. 

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he wakes up early the next morning with a horrible crick in his neck and a blanket draped across his lap. Musket leant against the front door and Nate still out on the couch. Codsworth offers him Sugar Bombs and asks if he'll wake Nate. 

* * *

"Oh-ho-ho, you're _evil_ , Cowboy." Nate snorts, pushing at his shoulder. Laughing himself, he stumbles over his own feet for a few steps. 

"I told him to stay away from the Brahmin. Besides, he was fine in the morning." Shifting his rifle in his hands he steps over the charred remains of a dining table in the middle of the street. They'd been walking since Wednesday morning from Coup Manor towards Diamond City and Goodneighbor. While the settlements supply lines were ripe with materials and necessities, their own packs were growing light and a restocking was due. Arturo was holding a weapon modification for Nate he had ordered a month ago that had just had arrived, besides they needed to report back with Piper on a affair she was particularly interesting in writing on. It shouldn't be but a day or so more, depending on what they run into when they hit the city. 

"I grew up in a city not too far from Boston, only move up here for military duty. Must've been fun on a farm." His guns bump and click together in their holsters. He's about as imposing as a veteran Gunner. His general softness has hardened into muscles underneath study armor and powerful weaponry. Even with his goofy Dogmeat-esque smile. There'd been a handful of times settlers had screamed at them when they approached until they recognized him. But when they're traveling together, he's just got this goofiest air around him. Like he's travelling with a childhood bestfriend with him. It's amazing, honestly. 

"You know what it's like, General." He teases, bumping his shoulder against his side. 

"Oh, you know what I mean. Growing up with a bunch of other kids and running around until high noon, eating dirt and getting absolutely filthy." Nate stops and flips open the lid of a trashcan. Stopping beside him, he keeps a hand ready on his crank as he rifles through it. The streets are quiet but he's never trusted silence. He's got half a mind of telling him to stop when he shoves his whole damn arm inside, you never know what's in those. Leaning back, he pulls out a pipe pistol that's missing its trigger and half its stock and a burnt looking book. The gun goes in Nate's bag to be scavenged for parts later. 

"You don't have siblings?" He asks as he's fixing his pack on his shoulders. The two continue onwards, Nate's flipping through the book, trying to see if it was salvageable. 

"Nah, we moved to Sanctuary to make sure Shaun would have other kids to play with. Though, I think all of them were about seven-ish by the time we got there. Still, the world back then liked you to have two, three kids before you gave up. Otherwise your in-laws would nag you til they died." The edge of the pages crumble when he touches them, it seems its taken water damage at some point and the text is entirely illegible. He chucks it to the side and takes his around the shoulder. Preston cringes at the sound of it hitting the ground. 

"You wish cars still work?" He asks as they pass a Corvega Atomic V-8, he'd always wondered what it was like driving one. There's not a lot of surviving books on cars or with scenes where they drive cars. How nice would it be to drive? He kicks a piece of rubble underneath the machine to rouse any potential ferals. When nothing skitters out, he turns to look at Nate.

“Oh, all the damn time.” Laughing boisterously, he nods. “Never walked this much in the military. Thinking about riding brahmin around. Imagine that, the Minutemen represented by laser rifles and brahmin.” 

“I think I’d have to demote you if I saw you responding to an emergency on a brahmin.” Chuckling, he stops to nudge a pile of clothing aside. Kneeling down he picks up the boots and gives them a good look over. They were in good enough condition to send them off to the Castle next time they met a provisioner going that way. They weren't steel toed but they could reinforce them. Standing, he slips his pack from his shoulder when Nate suddenly grabs him by the lapels of his duster. Alarmed, he watches him drop to a knee.

"Please, Garv, don't kick me out. I have nowhere else to go!" He all but wails, hanging off him and tugging him into an awkward lean. Laughing, he pushes him away by his pouting face. 

"I dunno. I'll have to think it over. That mental image is just too scarring." It doesn't come out as deadpanned as he wished it could have been, Nate's laughter was just too infectious. He shoves his face into his stomach, shaking his shoulders and weeping comically. Breaking into a laugh, he drops the boots and tries to pry his fingers off. To no avail. "Gen- General, stop!" He laughs and pushes his head away. "What if someone sees you?" 

Smiling wide, he sits back on his heels and looks up at him. The early morning light cast a soft golden glow across his features, shining in his bright eyes and mystically white teeth. Crows feet at the corners of his eyes creased in delight. Strong hands let up on his duster and slide down to slip the tips of his fingers into the pockets. He looks just like all those happy fathers from surviving old world magazines and picture books. Beautiful and entirely too kissable. Especially when he's down on one knee with a smile that sweet. With a mounting sense of horror, he realizes what he's thinking and bites the inside of his cheek as punishment. He has a _wife_ and _child_ he's mourning for. 

"C'mon. A little bruised reputation is worth your laugh." Chuckling, he straightens out his duster with a few firm tugs, straightening his belts and clipping their caps pouch closed. "You worry too much whenever we leave settlements." 

"There's a lot to worry about. Now, _up_. We're going to be late if you dally all day." Grabbing him by his elbows he tugs him back up to his feet. With a comical groan and eye roll, he hops up and continues walking. Preston grabs the boots again and grabs Nate's pack, shoving them inside and zipping it back closed. Nate stumbles a bit comically as he pulls the zipper closed. 

"Nicky wouldn't mind waiting an extra hour or two. He's taking Ellie out drinking for her birthday tonight anyways." Trailing his fingers along the brim of his hat, he follows after him with a shake of the head. This man was impossible. 

"That's not polite, General." He chides lightly. 

"Yeah, yeah. Nora called me an asshole too. I'd always steal the last bit of coffee. She damn near strangled me whenever she needed to go to the firm early and I was already at the pot." 

"You still do steal all the coffee." 

"Mama makes good coffee!" He huffs. Preston doesn't notice the way Nate stares as he laughs.

* * *

"... patient. So patient. Patience of a saint, as my mother used to say. Look, with Shaun, and us all being at home together... It's been an amazing year. But even so, I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes, sure. Things we'll need to adjust to. You'll rejoin the civilian workforce, I'll shake the dust off my-" 

Feedback sounds as the holotape is rewound.

"Oops. Ha ha ha. No, no. Little fingers _away_. There we go. Just say it. Right there. Right there. Go ahead." Both laugh. "Yay! Hi honey! Listen… I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a father you are... But, we're going to _anyway_. You are kind, and loving," Shaun's babbling giggle… "and funny! That's right. And patient. So _patient_. Patience of a saint, as my mother used to say. Look, with Shaun, and us all being at home together... It's been an amazing year. But even so, I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes, sure. Things we'll need to adjust to. You'll rejoin the civilian workforce, I'll shake the dust off my law degree... But-" 

Feedback as it's rewound again. 

"Oops. Ha ha ha. No, no. Little fingers _away_. There we go. Just say it. Right there. Right there. Go ahead." Both laugh, again. "Yay! Hi honey! Listen… I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a father you are... But, we're going to _anyway_. You are kind, and loving," A baby's babbling giggle that no longer exists… "and funny! That's right. And patient. So _patient_. Patience of a saint, as my mother used to say. Look, with Shaun, and us all being at home together... It's been an amazing year. But even so, I know our best days are yet to come-"

Rewound. 

Rewound...

… Rewound, again.

It never reaches the end. She never says goodbye. 

Preston stirs from sleep. Shuffling he tucks his face into his arm. Still, the woman's voice continued. Sitting up, he rubs at his eyes and looks for Nate. He's sat against his backpack staring at his Pipboy. 

"Oops. Ha ha ha. No, no. Little fingers _away_. There we go. Just say it. Right there. Right there." Her laugh is nice, soft and melodic. The baby's laugh is as squeaky as it can get, the kind where they're so happy they just flap their arms. The Pipboy makes an odd sound before silence and a click. "Oops.-"

"Nate?" Croaking, he clears his throat as he forces his eyes to stay open long enough to make out his shocked expression. Sitting up straight, he practically smacks his Pipboy before shuffling closer to him, the noise stops as a warm hand meets his shoulder. 

"Shit. Sorry, Preston. Did I wake you?" He almost wants to lean into his touch, take his hand into his. 

"Hmm, no. Not really." He clears his throat again to try and dissuade the croaky, scratchy drawl in his voice.

"I'm sorry. You can go back to sleep." Gentle hands guide him back down, smoothing out his undershirt and fixing his coat over him like a blanket. He sits up on his elbow, blindly reaching out for his arm and grabbing his bicep.

"It's my turn, isn't it? What time is it?" Green glow of the Pipboy casts soft light across his features when he checks. There's a noticeable crease in his forehead. 

"Three." Sighing, he sits up and stretches his arms over his head. He'd slept three hours past their time to switch watch. Slipping from the sleeping back he stretches his legs. Nate shifts awkwardly in place, staring down at the screen without doing much. 

"You can use my coat as a blanket. I'll wake you up if it looks like it'll start storming." He's rummaging around in Nate's pack for that silenced pistol he came home with suddenly. Not the kind of gun he favors but it doesn't glow. It's got 'Deliverer' engraved into the slide and a star on the butt.

"I… don't think I could sleep right now." There's a soft tremble to his voice. Preston picks up his coat, shakes out the dust and drapes it across his shoulders. 

"Then you can sit with me until you get tired. We still have a day's worth of walking towards Starlight, I think we can afford an hour or two delay." He says, tugging Nate towards the sleeping bag and taking his previous spot once he was sat on it. 

"We probably shouldn't." Shrugging, he checks how many bullets were in the mag before slotting it back into place.

"You need to rest, General. We're just being called in to finish setting up fences and oversee the patrol scheduling. They're perfectly able to hold their own without us." Humming, he shrugs again.

They lapse into a brief silence. Preston keeps watch of both sides of the road they've set their campsite up beside. The widgets of his Pipboy click and the chimes of different screens being selected sound. Nate's got a couple of old games on there, MacCready likes to try and bribe him for an hour or two to play them. (He gives him the Pipboy without taking a cap from the guy. Doesn't play them much anyways.) Figures he's playing one of those to kill time. 

"This was her favorite time of the day." Nate whispers, almost too quiet to hear. Calloused fingers dragging along the smooth ridges of a holotape. Preston looks up at the brightening sky. An almost greyed purple, speckles of stars here and there from behind clouds. Its peaceful. "Before we adopted Shaun she would have an alarm at three to just sit and look at the moon. I used to hate it…" A weak laugh tapers out into a solemn silence. Preston looks from the sky to him, catching him staring. "Her alarm sound was some pumped up jazz number. To make sure it got her up and kept her up. It'd wake me up every damn time. Wasn't a morning person then- a lot worse than I am now. I can remember it still. It feels like I just woke up to it last week." He hums out a rough imitation of it, drumming his fingers against the air. Preston smiles softly, Nate's eyes meeting his again. They burned his skin, seeing through his flesh and bones into his very soul. 

"She sounds like a fun woman. You're very lucky, General." He says. Nodding, he smiles sadly. 

"Yeah. She was…" He sighs and tentatively shuffles closer to him. A hand wraps around his arm and Nate leans against him. "God. She was _magic_." 

"What were you listening to?" He asks. With a hum he doesn't answer but holds up his Pipboy to look at the screen. Vault Boy saunters in place merrily in the center. The slot to insert a holotape opens and Nate looks at the one in his hand. There's a label carefully placed in the center, held in place by a thick piece of clear duct tape. His thumb traces over it, but it's too dark to read from where Preston's sitting. 

"Nora and Shaun recorded me a message before everything went to hell. Codsworth gave it to me after I crawled from the vault. I just- I like listening to it when it's dark. When it's her favorite time, ya'know?" Carefully pulling his arm free, he fixes his jacket around Nate's shoulders before tentatively setting his hand on his shoulder. 

"Oh." His gaze drifts from Vault Boy to his fingers, barely caught in the green glow. "I don't think I've ever recorded one." 

"You need another machine to actually record something on them. I haven't seen any but haven't been looking either. I'm sure someone has one, the Brotherhood has all sorts of freshly recorded logs." Feeling silly he keeps quiet. Looking up and down the road, he rests the Deliverer on his thigh. The weight and warmth of Nate tucked into his side, head rested against his chest, is surprisingly comforting. It's almost pitiful just how much he missed physical touch like this. Especially so since he was receiving it from someone still so infatuated with his wife. Stupid to have a crush on someone married…

"Would you… Do you want to listen to it?" Nate’s voice has returned to a barely audible whisper. Caught off guard he looks away from the road to him. His head is tilted down to look at the holotape. Mess of black hair catches some of the light and he wonders when he'll get it cut again. It'd be too much effort to go all the way to Diamond City for a trim. It couldn't be that hard to cut hair. 

"Only if you want me to." He's honored he offered. His past was something Nate always kept close to his chest. You could always tell when he was remembering something by his expression but he never divulged any of them unless they were funny anecdotes or his favorite recipes. Some nights the both of them would get sentimental, he'd open up then about his family and the horrors of serving in the war. But he always thought he'd share the same sorta things with Nick while working with him.

The holotape clicks as it enters. Feedback sounds as its rewound to the very start. He watches the screen carefully as he listens, smiling at young Shaun's giggles and squeals. Nora's laughter is even more beautiful now that he's awake. The image of a picture perfect prewar life is at the very front of him mind; he can almost taste the clean air. 

"Now say goodbye, Shaun... Bye bye? Say bye bye? Bye honey! We love you!" Shaun squeals a final time when told to say goodbye and the tape ends. Preston's smiling and startles when he notices Nate staring up at him. 

"She has a very nice laugh." He manages to get out in his embarrassment, unsure what he should be saying and just letting the first thing that came to mind out. 

"You do, too." He murmurs, ejecting the holotape. 

"Ah, you're too nice, General." 

"Nate. I like it when you call me Nate." Pulling his knees closer to his chest, he wraps an arm around them and drags his finger across the screen of the Pipboy. 

"I'll remember that."

* * *

This generator had been particularly finicky. Preston's not the most technologically intelligent man so perhaps he's taking a bit longer than actually need be. He knows what to do, what's broke, and how it ought to sound and work like, it's all just a matter if getting it there. This one's hooked up to one of the water purifiers. The two others are in working condition but with word of a small family moving in soon in addition to those already living here, he'd feel better if everything was in order. He's about seventy percent sure Nate had up and left a few hours ago. He's been promising Hancock a good adventure for a while now and even if he had told Preston he was leaving he was probably too focused to register it. He’s just got so many chores he wanted to do his brain felt like it was everywhere. It's just this damn generator was driving him crazy. 

(Okay so he might have cried when a screw almost fell into the water but he saved it! So it was okay. Hopefully no one noticed.)

There's suddenly a hand on his shoulder, a shadow overcast on the generator. Glancing up, he finds Nate in his vault suit and General hat. There's an amused quirk to his brow as he looks down at him before popping into a squat. "You having fun out here, Cowboy?" He asks. Smiling, he turns back to his work. Its gotta be close by _now_.

"Working up a sweat, that's for sure. I should have paid more attention to Sturges' blueprints." Laughing Nate picks up a flathead, turning over the rusted thing in his hand. They'd need to either find a way to restore them or replace the ones in too bad of a condition. 

"Haven't seen you out of that coat in weeks. Almost didn't recognize you." Gently he jabs him in the ribs with the tip of the screwdriver. Jerking away he swats at his hand and rolls his eyes. It was too damn hot today to be wearing that whole get-up. He's changed halfway through the generator into a T-shirt and jeans. Nate always gave him shit whenever he changed, he teased him whenever he slipped out of his vault suit in turn. It was all stuffed into his pack somewhere in the kitchen. 

"Its probably due for a washing." Something clicks and a light flashes green as the pistons of the generator suddenly start up into a steady pace, wheezing and chugging along like the others. Pride swells in his chest and he sits back on one hand to look at it. 

"Great job, Lieutenant." Nate says, squeezing his shoulder with an approving grin. 

"Job's not done. Got a turret I need to look at. Thought you'd be gone longer." He moves to stand when Nate's yanking him up to his feet by his upper arm. Stumbling, he knocks against his side. The backs of his knees ache from just how long he had been sat, his tailbone was killing him. He turns to snark at Nate about being rough when he's met with a perfect, full tooth smile. Preston almost has to sit back down. 

"Come take a break with me. Half an hour can't hurt." It probably can, but there's no saying no to Nate. A strong arm wraps around his side and he marches him in through the back door towards the staircase. "Besides, I have something special for you to try."

"Oh, you found where you could make lasagna?" Nate had gone on and on about how hard it was living without 'possibly the best food _ever_ _invented_ ' in the Commonwealth. Of course, it wasn't completely dead. He'd had something like what he described as a cake for his fifteenth birthday. He's just never seen the kind of pasta he said he needed to make it properly. Spaghetti was a miracle find that was saved until tatos were in season for a good sauce. As he's dragged up the stairs to Taffington, his eyes find the gaping holes in the ceiling. That would be his third chore for that day. They over the bed and the other half didn't have any protection from the elements. But it smelt wonderful right now. 

"No, I pulled a few favors with Deirdre and Daisy and present to you," Letting go of his arm he hops up the last few steps quickly and with a dramatic flourish, motions towards the desk pushed against the wall. Approaching it, it's a small pan of something. Not the most appetizing thing he's ever laid eyes upon in his life but Nate sure looks proud of himself. 

"My Pa's meatloaf! Without beef and chicken eggs but their closest cousins." He nudges him to the side to grab a knife and begin cutting into it. Thick wisps of steam curl into the air around his hands. "No ketchup, either. Tried my best to get something close." 

"I wouldn't know what ketchup is supposed to taste like anyways." Preston laughs. "I was once dared to eat mustard from a Super Duper Mart someone snuck back during basic training, though." 

Pausing, he gives him an incredulous look. "Please tell me you didn't." Laughing again, Preston shakes his head.

"No! It had so much mold that when they opened it, it popped like a mirelurk egg. I had them scrub themselves down. Someone did, though. Don't remember exactly what happened to them. I know they lived but the doc had someone visiting to trade, I think, and they were both gobsmacked when we called them down to look at him." Carefully, he guides the slice of meatloaf out and onto a red plate. Probably the cleanest in the settlement. It's certainly a generous serving. 

"I'm almost envious that I wasn't there to see it." Cutting out another slice he sets it down on another plate. Picking them up, he motions to the couch and Preston takes a seat. Handing over the larger slice, Nate cozies up with his own. "Cheers." Clicking his fork against his, Preston tentatively digs in. 

It's unlikely anything he's tasted for a long while. Reminds him of home and his teenage years. Of sun blistering hot days and laying out in the shades of trees panting like the farm dog. If his childhood had a taste, it'd be this and his Granma's mirelurk king cakes. Burns the roof of his mouth but he doesn't mind. Chewing around a pleased hum, he forgets his manners and immediately goes in for another bite. 

"Slow down, Cowboy. You'll choke." Nate laughs while watching him with a fond smile. 

"Mhp- sorry." He mutters through a mouthful. 

"I'm glad you like it." 

"It's great. I'm excited for your lasagna now." Nate finally digs in himself, looking entirely _too_ satisfied.

"Don't lie, Garv. You were excited before." 

* * *

If silently crying was a talent, Preston Garvey would be the Commonwealth's champion. Got it down pat enough to not even change expression. His gun's leant against the outpost wall as he tries to make it look like he was paying attention. There's a tremble to his hands and an uncomfortable tightness in his throat. His eyes burn with unshed tears. His mind a thousand miles out watching his body stare out blankly. 

If somehow knowing when something was wrong was a talent, Nate O'Crowley would have about a million gold medals. 

The wood creaks behind him and he whips around with his weapon in his hands and against the crook of his shoulder. Nate's silhouette pauses on the stairs and he bares his palms, a box tucked underneath his arm. He turns back around quickly to hide his face from the dim streetlights.

"I've got your favorite." A package of Fancy Lads is pressed into his hands. He doesn't trust his voice at that moment but takes it. Setting down his gun he tears open the packaging. Choking back a sniffle he glances out into the wastelands. "It's okay." Nate whispers, taking him gently by the colonial duster sleeve and into his chest. He can't help but relax against him, resting his forehead against his shoulder. 

When they pull away he tries to apologize for getting his shirt wet but he'll hear none of it. Just asks for one Fancy Lads and sits with him until a recruit comes to take the post. His face is clean and Nate's got him smiling over something he talked his way out of with a super mutant enforcer. 

* * *

"Ah, our favorite informant, Takahashi. Hey, buddy. You holding up alright?" Nate elbows Piper's arm as they approach the bar. She gives him a smile as leans an elbow against the bar as the robot swivels around to face them. 

"Nan-ni shimasu-ka?" He asks, stirring his big pot idly. 

"Yes, please." Nate chimes merrily, practically drooling in anticipation. They'd come up to speak with Detective Valentine yesterday when they'd run into Piper. Master manipulator she was, she managed to sweet talk her way into having them stay an extra evening if she paid for their hotel room in exchange for a chat over dinner. She wanted to puzzle something out with Nate and he was all too happy to help. 

"Me too, Takahashi." Piper chimes as he takes a seat on one of the barstools. Motioning Preston over he pats the stool beside him. Sitting down, he sets his bag down on the ground in front of him, looping one strap around his ankle to make sure it isn't snatched. 

"Nan-ni shimasu-ka?" He repeats. Piper leans between them as he begins to fill the first cup of noodles. 

"Yes." She chirps. Preston watches him curiously, amused by the chef's hat sitting precariously atop his head. Hasn't got a clue what he's saying, but he seems to respond to a 'yes' or 'no' well enough. The first bowl is served and Takahashi sticks two chopsticks in it. The bowl is slid to him almost immediately, Nate smiles.

"They're good, I promise. If you don't like 'em I'll eat them." And with that everyone has their food and Piper and Nate are discussing an uncracked mystery. They're being good was certainly and understatement and he's content to half-heartedly listen to their conversation as he eats. The hustle and bustle of everyday city life is background music for him to sit and think peacefully to. Everything is so chaotic out in the wastes. Nate's list of urgent matters they needed to attend to was every growing and while he loved his life, but it was a whole new type of exhaustion to be settling down for a nap when the music of Radio Freedom breaks into a message for them specifically. One he hadn't thought about when fixing the radio.

He's chewing on the vegetables he's missed, carefully scrapping them out of the bowl with his chopsticks when a hand steals it from him. Looking over, he gives Nate a bemused look as he holds the bowl out towards the robot who takes it and scoops in another generous helping. It's placed in front of him without a word or even a break in their conversation. Preston catches Piper's eye and she gives him a wink. If he's blushing when he looks away, he really _isn't_. It's the fluorescent lights. 

* * *

"Okay, just listen. You're gonna love this." Nate snickers as he slots the holotape into his Pipboy. He had been out with Curie when he'd apparently found a collection of songs saved to a holotape. Dragged the poor woman straight back across the Commonwealth and to Sanctuary to show him. She'd laughed when describing his face when he heard them, said he spoke about how much Preston needed to hear them as soon as possible. He can't figure out why. If he needed him to hear it urgently, he could have sent it with a provisioner or a Minuteman. Nate said he wanted to see his face when he heard them. 

With a few taps to the screen the music starts up and he leans back on one hand, holding his hand out in front of him so they both could listen. There's this childish glee all across his features as the first few chords of the song start up. It sounds sweet, like something his Pa would pluck out after dinner to wind the children down for afternoon chores. He knows its a piano, its a beautiful instrument. Not many left.

It's a nice sounding song, cheery and slow in the beginning. When he asks what 'skittles' are Nate just laughs and shushes him. He almost relaxes back against Sanctuary's bridge when the singer begins. It's a very peaceful song- until he starts to describe poisoning pigeons in a park. Sitting up on his elbow, he meets Nate's eye and the man goes wild with laughter. His hand pounds against the wood and his head falls back. 

“You walked halfway across the Commonwealth to show me a song about killing birds?” He wheezes and shakes his head, fingers clumsily finding the pause button.

“Hey- I- Hah, I had Curie carry me!” Popping the holotape out, he hands it over to Preston. ‘Tom Lehrer’ is written across the back in faded ink. “I knew your reaction would be worth it though.” 

“Ha ha, General. I’m sorry I ever expressed interest in prewar culture. I take it all back.” As he goes to stand, Nate grabs him by the arm and tugs him down into his side. With a dazzling smile he pinches his cheek until he smacks his hand away. Even as he leans away to rub his sore cheek, there's still only a few inches between them. He feels as though he may implode. 

“If you don't want me to laugh, don't make cute faces. Lehrer is known for his songs like this. He’s got one about Oedipus and…” _Cute_. _Cute… Cute?_ He’s not thinking about it. He's _not_ thinking about it and he's paying attention.

* * *

"Assaultron!" He yells as he sees it turn the corner. Nate curses as he grabs him around the waist and throws the two of them around the corner. A few moments later a red hot laser burns a hole into the wall where they had been. Cranking his weapon he retreats further down the hall with Nate at his side. Aiming down his sights, he fires at the sprinting figure of a raider wielding some pipe gun. A grenade clatters near their feet and he barely has enough time to dive out of the way before it explodes. He's thrown against the wall, his musket clatters from his hand. With his ears ringing, he pushes himself up onto his elbows to find a figure standing over him. A metal bat knocks him on his chin, making his head spin on its axis. He can almost make out his name through the ringing when a bright flash of muzzle fire makes his eyes sting. Something heavy drops beside him and he's dragged up to his feet. 

"Preston?!" Nate yells, he's got him held up between a corner of the room they were in and his body. Squeezing his eyes closed he pushes himself off the wall and stumbles. Going for his gun he almost falls as he starts to crank. Mama Murphy was gonna give him so much shit for the bruise later...

"I'm okay! I'm okay! Lets clear these guys out." With a determined look he nods and reloads his own weapon. 

"I'll go for the lady, you can handle two or three raiders?" He says, bracing himself against the doorway. The heavy footsteps of the Assaultron could be felt through the ground. Raiders taunt and jeers somewhere behind it, calling out to them so they could make it easy and put 'Joyce' back into her room. Heading to the other door he quickly runs out back into the more open portion of the building. There's one with a flamer balanced on their hip, the other wields a machete and and with several blades clipped on their thighs and upper arms. They twitch excitedly in place when they see him, halfway hanging over the banister. 

"He's mine!" One screams and jumps down from their poorly constructed lodgings. He fires and hits them in the gut, thick leather armor takes the brunt of the laser and they're on him by the time he's cranked his gun enough to fire again. He goes to hit them with the butt, instead. They block it with their arm and dig a combat knife into his side. The other raider screams encouragements from above. Knocking them in the jaw he pulls away. Stumbling, they laugh as he pulls the trigger and burns the flesh of their shoulder. 

Pouncing, they shove him onto his back and wrench the knife from his flesh. With a yell he grabs at their wrist. They push back, aiming for his throat. Their bad arm is keeping them up as their good one strains against him to bring the knife down. Slamming a fist into the burnt skin they reel back in pain, shriek mixed with intoxicated laughter. Freeing his 10mm he barely aims and pulls the trigger. Brain matter and blood blow out the back of their skull as their body slumps forwards and onto him. 

"That's it, fucker, you're _dead_!" Dropping down, he flicks on the flamer and fire pours out. Backing up, he almost trips on his musket as he fires. A bullet pierces the fuel container and the whole weapon goes up in a burst of flames that consumers the scum holding it.

Grabbing his musket he avoids their flailing body as they writhe and scream. Tucking his 10mm back into place, he cranks he weapon and leans back against a pillar holding up the ceiling and applies pressure to the knife wound in his side. His head still hurt like hell and a splitting headache was starting to pull his skull in two. Gunfire can be heard down the hall, but no voices. Nate must be still with the Assaultron, he should go-The robot turns the corner, head swiveling at it spots him. Gunfire continues but none of it's aimed at the Assaultron crackling with electricity. Its got some damage done to it, one leg is stiffer than the other and some of its armor had been broken off, and one of its hands were gone. Its damaged but not dead and that's a _problem_. 

"Nate?!" He yells as he goes around the perimeter of the room. Its head opens and the laser starts to build, stance widening to help support its weight. " _General_?!" He fires and hits its head, interrupting it and sending its half charged laser up into the ceiling. 

"Leave the bitch alone!" A raider yells and takes him by the shoulders. They clumsily duck out of the way when he swings at them. "Joyce just wants to pet'cha. Ain't nothing wrong with spending a night with a lady. She _drools_ over men like ya. Nice, strong, righteous." Grabbing him around the stomach they force him back and against the wall, knocking his head against the wall, he beats at their back a bit uselessly. If this Assaultron doesn't end up killing him, his poor head will. Kicking at their knee, he's forced to drop his musket again to have any change to try and free himself. Both his arms were pinned awkwardly to one side of their body, their shoulder pressed against his sternum as their head hovered near his left. They were pushed up completely against him, feet flat against the ground to lean their entire weight against him. "I'll make sure she gets ya if it takes me out with you. Then all the other boys are gonna tear that other history freak apart." They snarl with a vicious delight. "Comin' into _our_ base, killing _our_ leader and men." 

"Fuck off!" He yells, bashing his elbow against the side of his head as he watches the laser charge up again with an overwhelming sense of mounting horror. _Please, no. I don't wanna die. Not anymore_. Their laugh echoes in his ear as the laser turns the metal of its face hot, the air around it distorted like pavement on a smoldering day. Kicking almost wildly he brings his elbow down hard on the side of their head. Still, they only laugh as he fights against him frantically. _Please, please, no! The Minutemen- Nate- Mama... Please!_

"Preston!" Nate _screams_. The raider tightens their hold around him as the Assaultron's head opens up. He can feel them laugh against him as he stares into the white hot laser, barely processing Nate's figure just at the very edge of his vision. Time slows into a dreadfully slow crawl. He thinks of Concord, sat in that one room against the door just looking at his people, wondering what General Becker would think of him then. Would he be proud he'd stuck out that long, fought that hard to get them there, starved to feed his people. Or would he be disappointed how low they'd all fallen, how little he feared dying in that moment. He'd never been more numb than when that raider was beating at the door, yelling and laughing through the wood what they'd do. It almost felt like they were getting their way now. But he can't die now. He has too much. Everything is so much better and he's still so young- it's not fair. It's-

Suddenly it's thrown off its one good leg in a brilliant explosion that seems to shake the entire building. The laser cuts up through the wall onto the ceiling and its body is eaten by crackling electricity and several searching tendrils of energy that singe the ground. The raider pulls away with a loud curse, dropping Preston. He falls to the ground in a relieved, dizzy, confused daze. Nate launches himself at the raider with a fury he's never seem him display before. Beats him with his fits and slams his head down against the edge of an old receptionist's desk until they fall unconscious, presumably dead. He's still breathless and shaking when he rushes over and collapses to his knees beside him.

"Oh my god, _Preston_ , are you okay?! I'm so _sorry_ , I got ambushed from behind and cornered and then the Assaultron wasn't there and I heard your voice and-" All his frantic rambling is cut off as he grabs him by the shoulder. With glassy eyes, he looks Preston over before seizing him by the shoulders and yanking him forward into a bone crushing hug. Preston doesn't protest, just catches his breath and relaxes into the embrace. He can feel Nate shake against him, his fingers digging into his duster as he buries his face into his shoulder. 

"... Nate?" He whispers, still a bit queasy feeling. _God_... an icepack would be heavenly about now. Maybe his bed in Sanctuary. No bed softer in the whole wastes. Sitting up, he wipes at his face, smearing blood from his sleeve across the bridge of his nose. 

"M'sorry." When he drops his arm Preston notices the laceration on his left temple. Furrowing he brows he tries to sit back and look for where his pack was to grab their medical supplies when Nate tightens his grip around him. 

"It's okay, Nate. You did it, everything's fine now. Just a couple of raiders with a surprising amount of hacking knowledge." He rests a hand on his shoulder instead, his other gently guiding him to meet his eye. "Are _you_ okay? How bad did they get you?" A stray tear slips down his cheek and he wipes it away. Nate presses a hand against his, brows furrowed and looking like Preston said he wanted him to resign from General.

"Am _I_ okay? Preston- Am _I_ \- Did you not see the position you were in just then? A few seconds later and I- you would have-" He guides him backwards gently to sit on his knees and give himself enough room to sit up straight, shaking him out of another potential ramble. 

"But you weren't. It's... It's okay, I'm _okay_. See?" Nate's eyes flicker over him, widening at the blood on his duster and the new hole he'd have to sew up later. "That's not important, I've had worse. Listen, Nate," He guides his head back up, holding both sides of his jaw. His breathing was all weird and he looked about three seconds from combusting into a panic attack. "Everything's okay, yeah? Nothing a stimpack and a nap can't fix." Cracking a tired smile, he keeps the wince off his face as his head pounds. 

“God, I,” Shifting into a more comfortable position, Preston makes room for him between his legs. Teary eyes look down at the golden band around his finger. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, Preston. I’m serious.” 

“I’ll try my best, Nate. I’m certainly not going out of my way to mooch off all your supplies." With a twinge of guilt he chuckles, rubbing at the sore spot on his head. Nate's laugh is hollow, the smile doesn't go far past his lips as his eyes stick to his ring. 

“I thought the same thing when I saw you one the ground when I saw Nora… y’know.” His tone is that of when he's getting ready to head up to the vault. Empty and hollow despite the sincerity he tries to put into it. Not unlike when something hurt so bad that your brain just blocked it all. As tired sounding as the day they met, walking towards Sanctuary and licking their wounds. “‘ _Please_.’ That’s all I thought. ‘Please. Not him, too.’ And I…” Sheepishly, he looks up and meets his eyes. As if he expected him to be angry. 

Preston's taken an embarrassing amount of notes from every speech he's heard each General give, from listening to old recordings, to being there in person to hear them, he's always wanted to know what to say. It was half of his job, wasn't it? To have just the right words to inspire people, to encourage a sense of hope and unity. Nate always had such an way with words, elegant in every sense of the word when necessary while also needlessly clumsy around simple sentences. He can pull out exhilarating allocutions from the top of his head that Preston would have to plan for months to get just right. Recently, he's thought he'd gotten the hang of it, knowing what to say under pressure. But, now, he doesn't have anything. Just a mouthful of words that jumble together and leaving him saying nothing. 

Taking his silence as permission, he continues, “I know you're capable but… I can't lose you too. All I could do was watch the first time and just seeing you there, I…" His hands rest over his again. There's a slight shake to them as he looks everywhere but his eyes.

"Hey," Taking one of his hands into his, he laces their fingers together, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere, not anytime soon. Not without you." Some thoughts were too embarrassing to say, but adrenaline and a skull splitting headache doesn't much care for filters. Near death experiences do _wonders_ for honesty. With the hand that isn't being held by both of Preston's takes him by the lapel of his duster, leaning forwards a hair. His eyes are glassy and look as if they're asking a question he can't quite get out. When he goes to brush another tear away, he leans into his palm. 

"Can... Can I kiss you?" Shocked, his brows shoot up and he blinks. If he wanted to have a chance to know what to say, this certainly wasn't going to let him. He's certainly thought about it before. An embarrassing amount. After fights when Nate's _beaming_ in victory. When they've settled down on the road for the night and he nabs his hat and wont give it back until he says he's his favorite general or wrestles it from his hands. When he finds a Nuka Cherry and pleasant surprise crosses his features. Or when he's playing with children and creating elaborate journeys for the teddy bears and toy aliens to go on. Perhaps (meaning every time) even when he turns on the classical radio and practices their slow dance. He's just... _everything_ Preston could have dreamed of in a General, a best friend, a... partner? If only. He must have been knocked out when that bat met his head. 

"But- What about Nora? I know you still love her and..." _I don't think I could even hold a candle to her_. Nate's thumb traces the rise of his cheekbone, smile soft and nervous. 

"I think she'd understand if I fell in love with you, too." Getting his hands free he leans to the side and hides in his palms. This man would kill him. His chest felt as though it were filled with helium and his brain is goo inside his skull. 

"I can't- I… uh- You have the worst timing ever." With a soft laugh, he gently guides his hands away from his face to meet his eyes again. 

"Yeah, but I have my moments." Shaking his head Preston tries in vain to contain his smile. 

"You… you love _me_?" 

"I do. I think I have since we properly removed the nursery." He says sheepishly. 

"Wow. I just- hold on." The pain of his headache was at the back of his mind as he slides up against the wall. His fingers twitch in Nate's hold before he squeezes them, trying to process everything. This _just_ had to be some wild dream. A vision of heaven in the Assaultron's laser as it reduced him to atoms. "I never thought- _Woah_." It comes out a lot higher pitched than he meant it to, enough to make Nate chuckle.

"I don't think I've ever seen you blush this much, Lieutenant." He jibes lightly with a grin. 

"I just… I never thought you thought about me like that- too. We- we don't have to rush anything. I know you said you think Nora would be okay but I'm just happy knowing you feel the same, we don't have to do anything unless-"

"Preston, I'm the one that asked." There's probably only an inch or so between them left. All the breath leaves Preston's lungs as he glances down at his lips. 

"... Asked?"

"If I could kiss you."

"Oh. _Oh_!" He squeaks, realizing. "Yes, please." Nate laughs as he leans in, taking a hand from his to hold the back of his head. His lips are soft against his, Preston's are chapped and thoroughly chewed. Still, the kiss is slow and sweet. Everything and more like those cheesy prewar books described it as (not that he _actually_ read them). All too soon, he's pulling away.

"There you go, Cowboy. Now let's get you patched up."

"A Med-X would be _great_."

* * *

"Sturges figured this was a safe distance outside the blast radius. So, whenever you want to see 'humanity's best hope for the future' go up in smoke, just hit that button." He stands with one hand on the railing, the other clutched into a fist at his side. Somehow, it's more apparent than ever that he doesn't belong here.

A man ripped out of time and suspended inside a liminal space until his release into a different world all together. An almost uncanny mixture of prewar excellence and postwar daily life. Flawless skin now scarred with the everyday difficulties of the Commonwealth, eyes a few hundred years older, shoulders tense with a victory laced with millions of tiny defeats. Still round and soft enough for it to be evident he lived a well-fed life, once. 

There's a severe tremble to his hand when he reaches out for the button. Turning the three switches and turning the knob, the cover flips open. His hand stops and all momentum is lost. Silence devours the entire Commonwealth. A Minuteman shifts behind him, exhaling quietly. Garvey holsters his weapon in case he might need to go over and help. His head turns to look out at the city and he presses his hand down against it. 

It all happens at once. The ground shudders in revulsion as the explosions ravage the land. A tidal wave of radiation hits them and leaves a sharp sting in the air. Mushroom cloud billows out in an atomic fury; it hurts his eyes when he looks directly at it. Metal creaks concerningly around them from all the shaking. Several buildings crumble into radioactive debris. Faintly, screaming can be heard. Ferals, super mutants, anything that took up nearby. Crushed, burned, and irradiated, nothing close survives. He can only hope enough people evacuated... The alarm still blares somewhere in his mind. All the sensations muddle into a confusion concoction of sensation that only spelt doom. 

Nate just stares unblinkingly, knuckles white around the railing. Dark eyes watch the mushroom ascend until he drops suddenly onto his knees. His face is hidden in his palm, the screen of his pipboy showing the nearby radio stations, Classical Radio gone. A recruit steps up beside Preston, looking at Nate before meeting his eye. Nodding, he hands over his gun and the two leave. 

Slowly, he makes his way to him and crouches down beside him and places a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't so much as flinch or breathe. The radiation settles into a low buzz around them, the slow clicking of his pipboy draws to an end. He can still feel the horrible tremor of the sky scrapper in his boots. It almost feels as though it's swaying, dumbstruck by the volatile display of justice. 

It's done. 

No more Institute to snatch people away for experimentation, for brutal torture and brainwashing. No one left to spy on people and release Luciferian creations made of violations of science and basic human decency. The people of the Commonwealth (synth or not) can sleep easy, and Nate...

Nate just rewatched the end of the world.

He can't look at Shaun for more than a few minutes before he starts appearing as though he were ill. He _tries_. Smiles at the child, speaks with him, entertains him with whatever toys happened to be in a provisioner's collection at the Castle as they were packing up to head out. But no matter how hard he tries, there's a deep horror in his eyes. Preston pulls him away before the child begins to take notice of it, whispering to the child about his father's 'super duper important secret General business'. A young woman agrees to watch him as he takes Nate back towards the General's quarters. 

Leading him inside he tries to take him to his bed to let him lay don but he pulls away and falls into one of the chairs. With his elbows on the table he grabs two fistfuls of hair and shakes. Unsure what to do with himself, he lingers in the doorway. 

"Please don't leave me." He croaks, the tail end of a pain sob coming through. Closing the door, he flips the lock. No one would bother them, they'd all seen the General's state after the explosion. It was just to make sure no curious, clingy child wandered in and worsened his already fragile state with well intentions. Sitting down beside him, he gathers up the papers and files scattered around the table and sets them into one neat pile to the side. Nate sniffles and gasps beside him.

He wants to hold him, to touch him and comfort him. But he doesn't want to push him too far. Instead, he waits for him to be ready and stares at the Minutemen flag hung over his bed. The silence drags out as he tries to calm himself enough to speak again. His hand leaves his hair to reach out for his and he takes it, pulling it to his chest and squeezing it reassuringly. 

"His last words to me were, 'It's too late to be sorry'. I never- he…" A deep hurt twists his features before he hides it in his palm. Bringing his chair closer he sets his other hand on his back. "My baby was _dying_ of _cancer_ and I released the same technology on him that killed the world. What kind of father am I?! I couldn't save him _or_ my wife and she died because of it, and now- Now I _killed_ our child! The one damn reason I didn't let myself starve in that _fucking_ vault and I fucking killed him. Those fucking bastards! If they'd just left us alone everything would be fine!" His volume steadily rises, rage and grief digging their claws deep into old wounds. He shakes like he’s just stepped out of the cryopod with a face flushed as bright as a tato. Knuckles going white as he grips Preston’s hand as a lifeline, crushing it but he’s too worried about moving and tipping him over the edge by pulling away in any form. “I don't even have his teddy bear. It wasn't there when I returned to Sanctuary. They took his blanket when they took him and now that's… if I was even in there. I had him right there… A year I was working to find him- and he was there. _Right there_! I could hug him. But- now I- I just… He never let me. He never called me 'Dad' unless he wanted me to join him. He called Nora's death 'collateral damage', Preston. _Collateral damage_ …" 

He can only imagine. The absolute torment of having his child being ripped from him, to work tirelessly to find him, and when he does, he's the boogeyman. A monster deprived of empathy enough to shrug off his own mother's brutal murder. And then a child he's never met before but with Father's DNA is shoved onto him for him to care for. 

"The Institute took your baby and raised a man completely void of your influence. They took that opportunity away from you, Nate. None of this is _your_ fault." He gives him a weary look, loosening his hold on his hand and fixing his grip. He looks like he has something to say, but he's not quite done. "I know what it's like to feel so damn guilty over lost lives that you couldn't save, coming here from Quincy and travelling with you. But every time we're thrown something, we stand right back up. Again and again. You crawled out of that vault because you had something you _needed_ to do. I picked myself up at the Massacre and found everyone because I _needed_ to protect my people. And now the Commonwealth _needs_ us. 

"Shaun is not your fault. That man will never be the child you would have raised. He is the flesh and blood of you, but your family is a victim of the Institute just as much as Nick, or H2, every settler kidnapped and killed, even the early generation synths. You did what you thought best for the Commonwealth because it's what _needed_ to be done. Nora would forgive you if she were here to see it." Teary eyes stare at his knuckles, bruised and bloody from the battle. Preston pushes a curl of hair back from his face and he leans into the touch.

"She really would have loved you, y'know?" He whispers. Preston manages a sad smile.

"I'm glad."

They sit in silence. Nate collects himself while Preston holds him. Quiet feet shuffle outside but no one knocks. Shadows pass by and muffled whispers lead others away. The sky grows dark through the window covered only by their flag. The peace is one of melancholy and a lingering, deep grief that follows both men like ghosts of those lost to the war that haunt their homes. 

"What am I gonna do about Shaun?" He mumbles against his shoulder. Preston leans back, letting his hands slide down his arms. "I… I don't know if I can be the one to care for him." He'll be like that. Forever. Small, helpless, a child Nate never got to see for himself. The memory of a man that was simultaneously a part of him and perversely different. 

"We can ask Deacon about it. But all that in the morning. You should lay down. I’ll grab you a drink and us dinner and then I’ll hold you down if I have to.” His breathy chuckle is enough for him to feel okay with standing up and heading out.

* * *

Nate smiles as he watches him scramble from the booth to the platform, avoiding tripping over a skeleton in his rush. Metal screams and the platform trembles underneath their feet. He grabs onto Nate’s sleeve who’s unperturbed by the groaning of old cogs turning and straining against each other. Slowly, the horizon disappeared from sight and natural light was a mere whisper around them. Closing his eyes, he tries to imagine the blast of the bombs around him as the elevator descends. 

It stops with a loud thud and the gate opens about as fast as the lift descended. It sways lightly before clicking into place. Nate steps out first, into the blinding light and he follows close behind. He’s never actually been in a vault before. There’s plenty of stories about what happened in them, what living in one was like, but stories pale in comparison to the claustrophobic realization of what it actually feels like to be so deep underground. 

Tomorrow is Halloween. Nate had offered weeks ago for Preston to meet Nora. He’d been honored, if not a little scared. 

Takin his hand, they start down a cold hallway. This whole place is frigid and smells sterile, more so than anything else he’s ever experienced. He could taste the stale cleanliness in the air. The staunch white glow of the overhead lights cast grim shadows all around them. Their footsteps echo off the walls like whispers of a world gone asking to be remembered. For their warnings to be heeded. Passing a window, he peers inside. Cryopods line the walls, machinery in the center of the room. They glow a soft blue, a white mist lays thick across the floor. If he looks hard enough, he can see silhouettes of people inside. Nate leads him back into a room at the very end of the hallway, lined with similar pods. A red light blinks overtop the doorway. 

“Here.” He says, letting go and approaching one pod in particular. Preston glances into one and finds a middle aged woman twisted into an awkward position. Eyes wide and mouth hung open as if to scream. Looking away, he doesn’t look into any of the other’s until he reaches Nora’s. “Here she is." 

She's slumped to the side, eyes closed and with a jarring gunshot wound to her temple. Frozen blood sticks to her skin around it. Frost clings to her eyelashes and in her hair. Still, she's the epitome of prewar beauty. All soft, smooth skin, full lips, styled hair, thin brows, soft jawline. Her skin is youthful and without blemishes- save, of course, her... injury. Nate had never lied when he spoke of her. Beauty glows off her like it does Nate in soft waves of sea mist. 

Preston reaches into his duster pocket. Last year on the anniversary of their marriage Nate had collected all the yellow flowers he could find and placed them on the vault entrance. It had taken him a few hours searching the woods behind Sanctuary, but he eventually found a small patch of wild carrot flowers. The second one hadn't survived the night and he was a little worried the one he still had wasn't good enough. They're by no means roses. He places it on the lip of the crypopod where glass meets metal before stepping back to give Nate his room. They stand in silence for a few moments, the chill in the air digging underneath his skin. Preston finds his hand again and gives it a soft squeeze. All Nate does is nod, staring at the flower. 

Neither speak until they're making their way back towards the surface again. Preston can only imagine what he must have been thinking the first time he left. But as Sanctuary comes back into view and the platform stops at the very top, all he can think is how happy he is to be here. With Nate, with the Minutemen restored, with the boogeyman gone. Nate hugs him against his side before letting go of him and starting down the hill. And like always, Preston follows just a few steps behind.

* * *

Preston rouses in the middle of the night, his mind is foggy with exhaustion and anticipation. Nate shifts beside him, exhaling quietly and tugs at him in his sleep. Cracking open an eye, he sits up onto his elbow to look around the room. The oil lamp casts a soft golden light across the desk, shadows shift with the flame's flicker. 

Outside, bugs chirp and the dead bushes rustle in the midnight breeze. Distantly, he can hear boisterous laughter down the street from the bar. Cosworth's jets hum and his limbs click together somewhere in the house. He must be tidying again. The quiet, peaceful ambiance of their home wraps him back up in a blanket of tranquility. It's hard, sometimes. Remembering he's safe. That he can sleep a whole night without waking every five minutes to make sure no one had been taken in the night. 

A broad hand finds his shoulder and tugs him back down into the pillow. Nate mumbles something, he can barely make out his name as he snuggles into him. Putting an arm around him, he rests his forehead against Nate's. He looks so peaceful now, with their lives finally settling down into a routine. Their understanding of everything is more certain, no more mysteries and stressors they hadn’t already encountered a thousand times by now. 

“What?” He murmurs sleepily. “St’p starin’.” Humming out a laugh, he nuzzles up against him, burying himself into Nate’s arms. Immediately, he smushes Preston against his chest in an iron clad hold. After a moment, he drifts back off. 

This is… everything he hoped it would be. And more.

* * *

"Oh, dang nab- is it recording?" Sturges voice is muffled, barely audible. Preston laughs quietly. "And I just- Like the radio? Okay, thank you. Uh, hopefully that didn't pick up… Hi, Nate! I found one of the little recording things. Sturges and Danse helped me fix it up and I thought it'd be a cool idea if I recorded my first message for you. 

"Look, I, uh… Well, you know what I think about you. I tell you too much, frankly. But, if I may, I'll tell you again. I know you like keeping important things with you so… what's better affirmation than having my dumb little voice in your pocket? You're kind, and compassionate, and _yes_ , my favorite Minutemen General. What you've done in almost three years… I'm _amazed_. Your dedication and determination leave me in awe every day. And, sure, the Commonwealth changes every time we turn around, but I think we've got it handled. And… oh, damn." He suddenly laughs, a soft breathy chuckle. "I forgot I needed to help Dr. Anderson with a shipment of supplies today. Well, damn. I'm gonna get an earful. Anyways... what was I going on about? Oh- Tell me how cheesy this sounds, I got it from Hancock. No matter how hard things get, we adapt like chameleon deathclaws. His joke was about ghouls but... I didn't want to be rude." He laughs again. The tape laps into silence, a faint shuffling can be heard before he groans. "You're never going to let me live that down."

"Before I embarrass myself anymore, I'm just- I'm just gonna end the recording. Okay, I love you. Good luck out there, General." 

Nate smiles as he pops the holotape back out of his Pipboy. Carefully, he sets it in the footlocker Nora's message was kept in. Heading back out into the living room, he leans over the back of the couch and takes the old Minuteman hat from overtop his face. Preston's fast asleep, he's earned this nap. Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead he smiles as he hums quietly. Standing back up, he rubs his thumb against his old wedding ring. Yeah... she would have loved him. 

**Author's Note:**

> As all my works end up being, this was supposed to be like 4 scenes and ambiguous ending but I decided I wanted fluff halfway through and here we are.
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
